Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 253

Elara’s POV

I woke before dawn and immediately reached for the communication crystal on the nightstand.

Dark. Silent. No glow. No pulse of incoming magic.

I set it down. Pressed my palms against my eyes.

He’s fine. He’s the Emperor. He’s fine.

The mantra meant nothing. It had meant nothing yesterday. It would mean nothing tomorrow.

I dressed in training leathers and braided my hair tight against my skull. Routine. Structure. That was the only thing standing between me and the screaming void inside my chest.

---

The training yard held its usual ten.

Ten women. Ten left behind while the rest bled on frozen ground at the northern border fighting the rogues with Kaelen. I pushed them hard. Harder than yesterday. Shield formations. Counterattacks. Close-quarters grappling.

"Again," I said when Sophie stumbled through a parry.

"Elara, we’ve been at this all morning—"

"Again."

She reset. They all reset. No one argued twice.

By 2:00 PM, my arms ached and my throat was raw from shouting commands. Good. Pain was useful. Pain filled the spaces where fear tried to creep in. I dismissed them and walked back through the palace corridors alone.

The communication crystal sat exactly where I’d left it on the writing desk in the guest chamber. Anxiously, I picked it up.

Nothing.

I set it down. Walked to the window. Counted to thirty. Walked back.

Picked it up again.

Still nothing.

"Elara."

I nearly dropped it. Claire stood in the doorway, her silver-streaked hair pinned neatly beneath her steward’s cap. She watched me with steady, knowing eyes.

"How long have you been checking that crystal?"

"I wasn’t—"

"Every thirty seconds, by my count." She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "I’ve been standing here for several minutes."

Heat crawled up my neck. I set the crystal down with forced calm. "Did you need something, Claire?"

"The empire needs something." She folded her hands. Her tone was gentle but immovable, like river stones. "His Majesty departed without appointing a formal regent. The Privy Council is paralyzed. Trade disputes are piling up. Several border lords have sent petitions that require imperial seal."

"Then the Council can handle—"

"They can’t. They need a crown authority. They need you."

I stared at her. "I’m not the Empress. Not functionally. There’s an unsigned separation agreement sitting on his desk downstairs."

"Unsigned," Claire repeated quietly. "Which means it holds no legal weight. Which means you are, in every legal and ceremonial capacity, still Her Imperial Majesty. And the court trusts you."

"Claire—"

"The servants trust you. The guards trust you. The Council has already asked for you by name." She paused. Let the weight settle. "Whatever is between you and His Majesty is yours to resolve. But the empire cannot wait for that resolution."

I opened my mouth to refuse. The words wouldn’t come. Because she was right—and we both knew it.

"Until he returns," I said finally. "Only until he returns."

Claire inclined her head. A ghost of approval crossed her face. "I’ll inform the Council."

She left. I looked down at the crystal again.

Dark. Silent.

---

Home was louder than the palace.

"Imperial Mother, watch! WATCH!"

Lyra launched herself off the sofa cushion, arms spread wide, silver hair flying. I caught her mid-leap and swung her onto my hip before she could crack her skull on the stone floor.

"No jumping off furniture."

"But I was flying!"

"You were falling. There’s a difference."

She giggled and squirmed free, immediately scrambling back onto the sofa to try again. I blocked her with a pillow.

"Lyra. No."

She pouted. It lasted for only a brief moment before she spotted a butterfly through the window and forgot everything.

"Mother."

Valerius stood near the doorway. Arms folded. Dark gold eyes fixed on me with an intensity an eight-year-old—almost nine next month—should not possess.

"You’ve been checking the crystal again," he said.

Not a question.

I smoothed my expression. "I’m waiting for routine dispatches. It’s part of my responsibilities now."

He didn’t blink. "You’re scared that Imperial Father is going to die."

The air left my lungs.

"Valerius—"

"I heard the servants talking." He walked toward me. Slow. Deliberate. Like a small diplomat navigating a minefield. "They said the fighting is bad. They said the rogues have dark magic."

I knelt down to meet his eyes. "Your father is the strongest Alpha in the empire. He has Sir Cassian. He has the entire Royal Guard."

"That’s not what I asked."

This boy. This impossible, perceptive boy.

"Yes," I whispered. "I’m scared."

He studied my face for a long moment. Then he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my neck. Stiff at first. Then tighter.

"He’ll come back," Valerius said against my shoulder. "He always comes back."

I held him. Breathed him in. Tried to believe it.

"And I know about the separation," he added quietly. "I’m not stupid, Mother."

My heart cracked along a fault line I hadn’t known existed. Before I could respond, Lyra crashed into both of us, turning the embrace into a tangle of limbs and laughter.

---

The messenger arrived at dusk.

Not a crystal transmission. A physical courier, mud-splattered and exhausted, bearing a sealed envelope stamped with the imperial crest.

I broke the seal with shaking fingers.

Three lines. His handwriting. Blunt and utilitarian.

Are the children well? Is Valerius keeping up with his studies? Has Lyra stopped climbing the curtains?

Nothing about me. Nothing about us. Nothing about whether he was injured or alive beyond the obvious proof of his hand on the page.

I read it multiple times. Then pressed the paper flat against my chest and closed my eyes.

He was alive. That was enough. That had to be enough.

---

The next morning, I checked the crystal every two minutes, starting before my feet even touched the floor. Then again while brushing my teeth. Again while lacing my boots.

Jessica noticed at lunch.

We sat in the small courtyard behind the training yard, bread and cold meat between us. My crystal sat on the bench beside my plate. I glanced at it. Looked away. Glanced again.

"You know," Jessica said, chewing slowly, "for someone who’s supposedly separating from her husband, you check that thing like a lovesick girl waiting for her sweetheart’s letter."

"I’m monitoring military communications."

"You’re pining."

"I am not pining—"

"You looked at it twice since I started this sentence, Elara." She pointed her bread at me. "You still love him."

"That’s not—this isn’t about love. He’s fighting a war. Anyone would be concerned."

Jessica raised one eyebrow. Said nothing. The silence was worse than an accusation.

I shoved the crystal into my pocket.

---

The Privy Council met at 3:00 PM.

I sat in the high-backed chair at the head of the long table. The council members’ faces turned toward me with expectation. Documents spread across polished wood. Maps. Ledgers. Supply manifests.

Elder Morrison cleared his throat. "Your Imperial Majesty, the frontier medical stations have requested additional wolfsbane antidote shipments. Current reserves will soon run out at the current rate of casualties. Shall we authorize emergency requisition from the southern provinces?"

I stared at the supply figures. The numbers blurred. My mind kept circling back to current rate of casualties.

"Your Majesty?"

"Yes." I blinked. Refocused. "Authorize it. Double the shipment. If the southern provinces resist, remind them that the crown’s protection extends only to those who contribute to its defense."

Morrison nodded, scribbling notes. The meeting continued. Trade routes. Grain stores. Refugee movements.

I answered. Decided. Delegated. And the entire time, the crystal burned against my thigh like a hot coal.

---

By 5:47 PM, nearly six hours since his letter. Hours of silence.

I pulled the crystal from my pocket and channeled a thread of magic.

Sir Cassian. Status report.

The response came after an agonizing pause. Cassian’s voice, tight with fatigue, crackled through the stone.

Fighting is fierce, my lady. Multiple fronts. His Majesty is pushing hard. Very hard.

Pushing hard. What did that mean? Recklessly? Desperately?

Is he injured?

A longer pause.

He’s standing. That’s all I can confirm right now. I have to go.

The crystal went dark.

Standing. Not "unharmed." Not "safe." Standing.

---

By 11:00 PM, the palace was silent. The children slept. The servants had withdrawn.

I sat in the dark guest chamber. No candles. No fire. Just the crystal in my hands, its smooth surface catching faint moonlight from the window.

I channeled magic into it. Started composing.

Kaelen, are you—

Deleted.

I need to know if you’re—

Deleted.

The children are fine. I just wanted to—

Deleted.

Please don’t die.

I stared at those three words glowing faintly in the crystal’s surface. My thumb hovered over the send command. My chest ached so badly I could barely breathe.

How do you ask a man you’re leaving whether he’s still alive—without sounding like you’d shatter if he wasn’t?

I deleted it. Typed again.

Are you safe?

Too desperate.

Deleted.

Don’t do anything stupid.

Too casual. Like I didn’t care.

Deleted.

I sat alone in the dark, typing out another message and deleting it again, agonizing over how to ask if he was still alive without sounding pathetic or desperate.